The Godson
by OOHiMBLiND
Summary: Harry Potter was raised by his godfather, Sirius Black, and through which was raised with full knowledge of the wizarding world. His best friend Draco Black, is as excited as he to attend Hogwarts this upcoming year. He and Draco meet a pair of twins on t
1. Irving Place

**Title:** The Godson

**Rating: **K+

**Disclaimer**: I, of course, own none of the characters. If I make up a character, I will state so in an author's note preceding the chapter. I do, however, claim the fan-fiction ability to mold the characters as I like, therefore, the personalities I have adapted to these characters are, in fact, my own creation.

**Author's Note**: This is an extreme Alternate Universe sequence of Harry Potter. If you do not like alternate universes, please do not read. I do not like being criticized for writing out of character when that isn't the intent in the first place. It will save me aggravation and you the experience of me yelling at you.

**Summary:** Harry Potter was raised by his godfather, Sirius Black, and through which was raised with full knowledge of the wizarding world. His best friend Draco Black, is as excited as he to attend Hogwarts this upcoming year. He and Draco meet a pair of twins on the train, Ron and Ginny Weasley, as well as another girl, Hermione Granger. Faced with difficulties in their first year, Harry and Draco must learn to overcome their differences with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione in order to save the school.

**. : . CHAPTER ONE : IRVING PLACE . : .**

The warm August morning introduced the sun rising over the treetops outside of 142 Irving Place, Missident, Great Britain. The sparse decoration of houses down a grassy plateau, stretching for miles, contained no ordinary road in sight. It is not a typical neighborhood; the houses face inwards to the grass expanding between them; and on the front lawn, instead of the normal vehicles that roll rapidly on four wheels, there lay broomsticks of all sorts. Enchanted with blue, misty binds, one might wonder why the inhabitants of these houses need brooms with names such as Cleansweep and Nimbus.

But the residents of all the houses along Irving Place have no need for roads or vehicles, which they attribute to Muggles, and the brooms are not for sweeping, attributed likewise. The likeness of the sight has never been seen outside of the neighborhood, and rightly so. Any normal folk would declare such behavior as preposterous, scandalous, and unnerving.

Alas, these residents were unlike most common fold, such as the eleven-year-old boy still sleeping in the top floor of 142. His face glinted in the reflection of the sun peeking through his window, and it slowly traveled upwards on his face as the sun rose until it poked him quite annoyingly in the eyes. A small groan emitted from the boy's lips and his bright green and glorious eyes blinked open.

Rolling over onto his side, he tried to ignore the blazing sunlight streaming through his open window. The soft morning song of the lark drifted in, toning the sunlight into a strong essence of its August-born warmth.

The song was low and sweet and might have been able to put him back to sleep if a fourth sense hadn't drifted into the boy's bedroom. It was lustrous, tempting, and carried a two-fold of deceiving pleasure. To accept its call would mean to leave the comfort of his bed, but not to accept it would be an act of any criminal! It was too inviting to pass up, and although Harry Potter could recall the same smell every morning of his life, it never seemed to lose its desirous nature.

_I swear he's bewitched the scents_, Harry thought to himself, referring to the man downstairs who whipped up his breakfast every morning, _there's no way anything can consistently smell that good._ He allowed his nose to pick his head from his pillow and strained to take in more of the smell by lifting his nose high into the air. Breathing deeply, he smiled and sat himself firmly onto the mattress beneath him. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, could cook better than anyone he knew.

It was no surprise, however, that his godfather could cook so well. Sirius always seemed to stick something extra into his cauldron, which Harry knew had to be love. He'd never known a man so devoted to a single cause than raising a boy that wasn't his own, no one in the wizarding world bet he could have done it. But from a very young age, when Harry first could recall addressing his godfather by "dad", the man had become so stern with him, the word Harry uttered could have passed for a foul one by any onlookers. He wasn't angry, in fact, he seemed touched, but he would never forget what he said to him.

"Harry, my boy, I am not your dad," Sirius had said, a glimmering spark of pain tracing the outline of his dark brown eyes, "I am your godfather, and someday, perhaps soon, you will understand how this works. Call me Sirius, or Padfoot, or, if you must, Snuffles, but not dad…no…" And then he had just walked out of the room.

It wasn't mysterious, Sirius had never let on that he was the boy's father, but his response was strange. Harry, although never really meaning to call him dad, didn't know why the man refused to be labeled as such. But it became clear last year, when he turned ten, and Sirius finally sat him down and told him why it was he came to live with him.

It had been ten years, well, nine from last year, since Harry had come to live with Sirius. Dreadful, Sirius had said, was the death of his parents. The dark lord of the time, Lord Voldemort, had forced entry into the secret hideout of Lily and James Potter, who had gone into hiding a month before their death. No one knows exactly what happened, but what they did know was that something happened that kept Voldemort from killing Harry. From the positioning of his mother's lifeless body, Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the age, had revealed to Sirius that he believed it was Lily's sacrifice that deflected the killing curse from the baby boy, leaving him with only a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, centered slightly to the right, to mark the deflection of the deadly curse.

"No one knows for sure, as I said, Harry," Sirius said thoughtfully, grazing his fingers over the scruffy hair on his chin. "But it would be wise not to let on that you know what I've told you about that. It is extremely old magic, but just as powerful as ever and can, without the slightest trace, be used again." Harry could remember staring blankly at him, completely not understanding, but Sirius had continued on as though it was the easiest and most comprehensible fact.

Instead of Harry dying from the killing curse that had killed every other person it touched, it had rebounded on the dark lord himself and sent him away. Not dead, but not whole either. Dumbledore stormed into the Potter's house when he'd heard of Voldemort's movement, but was too late. He only found Harry, curled up fast asleep on the floor beneath his mother's arms. Quickly removing the child from the home, the wizard's first instinct was to bring him to his only living relatives, for surely their bloodline could pass on the magic that Harry's mother had left beneath his skin. But before his parent's died, they had a hankering that this might be their fate and prepared for it. Performing magic that only the truly great wizards could have conjured, they formed a will that would bind Sirius Black as a brother, for both he and Harry's father were pureblood, that is to say, fully wizard with no trace of Muggle ancestry. It was only through this will that Dumbledore relented to the godfather taking the child.

But as Dumbledore went in search of Black, as countless other wizards were scouring the globe in search of the remaining death eaters, he caught wind that he was in pursuit of the traitor Peter Pettigrew, more commonly known as Wormtail. Pettigrew had exchanged hands with Black and betrayed the Potter's secret house to the dark lord, which had driven him to find them. Black and Pettigrew dueled in a street scattered with Muggles and if it hadn't been for Wormtail's capture, Black may have been sent to Azkaban Prison. Instead, he was given the rank of Merlin, first class, for Wormtail's capture, and willingly took the boy to complete the will's magic which put a stronghold over Harry's protection.

Harry couldn't remember a day that had gone by within the last year that he was thankful that his godfather took him in. A day after his birthday the previous year, they had met the Muggle in-laws of his mother, and although they were a pleasant lot, a bit on the odd side, they weren't too fond of magic and were always slightly afraid of Lily's abilities. On the same note, their son, Dudley, was the size of a baby elephant, and Harry couldn't imagine he'd ever have been too agreeable to grow up with. But it had only been one day, and, in a way, it was nice to meet the blood-kin of his mother, whether or not it made a difference in his life.

But it wasn't only because his relatives were Muggles that Harry was pleased his godfather took him in, it was also because he grew up with a man who'd never fully grown up himself. Sure, Sirius was responsible, incredibly intelligent, and extremely loyal to Dumbledore, which was always a beneficial attribute in the day and age, but he was a boy at heart. Sirius retold countless occasions of his experiences with James, Harry's father, and their schooldays at Hogwarts, where Harry was to go in the upcoming year.

It was through these stories that Harry began to understand the emotion behind Sirius' refusal to be called "dad", Harry began to see. Sirius and James were the best of friends, and it was only through their deep friendship, and Sirius' everlasting guilt of trading places of secret keeper with Wormtail, that Sirius cherished Harry as a godson, but treated him like his own. Sirius taught Harry all the fundamentals of magic, showering him with his expertise on the gift of pranks, and sparked Harry's interest in learning so greatly that it was a wonder he hadn't hopped on his broom and attempted to find Hogwarts before his letter came. Inescapably, Harry could feel himself writhe in his own skin, desiring more and more information out of Sirius about the intricacies of the wizard's world.

He was able to talk Sirius in to bringing him with to the Ministry of Magic when he was called in to work so that he might spend time reading in the library. The shelves were lined with countless books swarming with information that Harry couldn't wait to get his hands on. Though not very enthused about his godson's boring hobby of reading, Sirius relented due to the fact that he was pleased Harry wasn't involving himself in mischevious behaviors, as many of the boys his own age do, not to mention he himself.

Sirius worked as a part-time Auror, or, dark wizard catcher. There wasn't much need for hunting down dark wizards, but the ministry found him useful at times, particularly when he took the form of a dog. Sirius was an Animagus, which he was required to register, and assisted the Ministry of Magic mostly through his usefulness as a dog. Since a great number of death eaters had been captured and imprisoned or had died since Lord Voldemort's fall, there wasn't much use for Aurors, but every once in a while the Ministry would catch wind of suspicious activity and send wizards to check it out in case it might be the dark lord himself, who had been alluding capture for ten years now in a shape or form of which no one knew.

"Harry!" the booming voice broke Harry from his trance. "Harry, are you up?" it was Sirius, from downstairs. Harry shook his head as if to shake drops of water from his hair, as untidy as always.

"Yes! I'll be right down…" Harry called back, "…Snuffles…" he added, much lower.

"I heard that!" Sirius growled. Harry sniggered, he _had_ told Harry to call him Snuffles, if he must, at one point. It wasn't as though Harry had created this name _for_ him. Sirius had willingly divulged the information to him.

He jumped out of bed and whipped off his pajama bottoms, and the same time rummaged through his shirt drawer for the birthday present Sirius had given him yesterday. He found it and smiled in triumph as three Quidditch players, Troy, Mullet, and Moran, raced towards him on broomsticks while a leprechaun danced jovially in the background. The shirt was a dark green that brought out the brilliance of Harry's eyes, and said IRISH NATIONAL across the back. He enjoyed the small teams like the Holyhead Harpies, but it was exhilarating to watch the National teams compete.

Throwing on a pair of jeans, Harry hurriedly bounded down the steps, jogged a couple paces, and was standing in the entrance of the kitchen where the smell of food was even more lustrous than before. He saw the plate of sausages, bacon, and eggs sitting in the center of the table and practically drooled just looking at them.

Sirius lowered his Daily Prophet from view of Harry and looked upon him almost pityingly. "I don't know what drove me to buy you that for your birthday," he picked up a sausage and bit off the end. "It is the most menacing thing I have ever had the privilege to watch."

Harry made a face and sat down across from him, picking up a sausage as well. "You said that about my cooking and handwriting as well. Shall I start keeping a list?"

Sirius folded the paper and sat it down next to his plate. "Listen, Harry," he said, taking a swig out of his water goblet, "I have to go to a meeting at the Ministry of Magic today and I think it would be best if you stayed here." Harry was about to protest when he lifted a finger, and Harry's mouth snapped shut. With a sly grin, Sirius continued. "I have a reputation to uphold and if I let you go to the library weeks before you are to begin at Hogwarts, well, I don't think I could live with myself. You can play with that new broomstick set that Narcissa sent you yesterday, you haven't had the chance to play with that."

"I've played with Draco's a hundred times!" Harry said, as the spell on his jaw was released.

Sirius leaned in over the table, as though there were ears pressed up against the glass waiting for him to divulge this very piece of information. "Don't tell Draco, but she got you the newest edition. It comes with a pair of Nimbus 2000's."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You're joking! No way!" Suddenly, books vanished from his mind as his Quidditch play-set came into view, perfectly depicted in his mind's eye. He and Draco had battled continuously, discussing play strategies and wondering how long it would take them to make the House teams at Hogwarts.

Narcissa had taken her son Draco into hiding about a month before the Potter's had, her husband, and Draco's father, Lucius, was deep into the service of Lord Voldemort and it was all she could do to keep herself and her son safe from the dark lord. Now that the man was dead, and Lord Voldemort MIA, the wizarding world was beginning to learn that she really was dedicated to the Ministry, and her allegiance to her husband was unbeknownst. Upon marrying him, and even at Draco's birth, she had no idea that he was involved in death eater practices. Then, it was only right that Narcissa, who's maiden name was Black, reacquired the surname and she and her cousin, who was evidently, Sirius, allow their boys to meet long before Hogwarts began. It turned out to be a success, as both boys hit it off immediately.

"It's lucky he doesn't have a trace of his father in him," Sirius has said, darkly, to Harry one evening when the boy and his mother left. "That man was a piece of work."

Draco was a pale boy with scruffy white-blonde hair, misty gray eyes that tended to change shades with his mood. He and Harry were both rather scrawny, yet average height for their age. Draco preferred brooms and Harry, books, but both delved into topics on either one. Both shared a fascination in learning more about sorcery, and could not stand the wait before Hogwarts began.

"All right," Harry said, eating more of the bacon in front of him, and scooping some of the scrambled eggs onto his plate. "Quidditch versus myself it is."

"That's my boy," Sirius said with a chuckle, "enough with books! You'll have plenty of time for that nonsense. It's the practical stuff you've got to look forward to. My old friend Remus Lupin is rumored to have the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. And you remember ol' Snape? He's still there teaching potions! He loved you, let's just hope you aren't in Slytherin…"

"Why not?" Harry asked. He was always curious about this one. The entirety of Sirius' family had been in Slytherin except for him, but Sirius had never bothered to mention why he held such a negative disposition to the House.

"Because I was a Gryffindor! You'd have to be barking mad to want to be in Hufflepuff, let me tell you. My friend Amos Diggory at the Ministry brags about his son Cedric all the time. The poor bloke doesn't realize you need a drainage pipe through your head in order to be in Hufflepuff," Sirius snickered. "Ah, well. It isn't up to us to decide anyway, the sorting ceremony will decide that." A glimmer of something mysterious behind his words held Harry's gaze. He loved it when Sirius went on rants about Hogwarts, it was, by far, the most fascinating information Harry could never find in books. All he wanted was the honest truth, not some sugar-coated god and bad that other people might tell him.

"Draco says he doesn't care what house he's in," Harry said, "I just hope we get into the same house. His father was in Slytherin, wasn't he?" Sirius grunted, which Harry interpreted as yes. "Well, Slytherin doesn't seem all bad. I'd probably have the most fun there, wouldn't you say?"

Again, Sirius grunted, but Harry waited in silence for his godfather to say something. It was a couple moments, but Harry's stare made Sirius give in. "Slytherin might give you the wrong impression, you know? You're 'The Boy Who Lived'. What would it say to the wizarding world that the boy who defeated Voldemort was put into the only house who turned out his death eaters?"

Harry sat on this a moment. He had a point, but it wasn't his job to keep up his image. "Let people think what they want! Isn't that what you've always told me? Besides, you just said it yourself, we don't choose what house we're in anyway."

Sirius nodded gravely, surely he was thinking differently. But then his gaze shifted from Harry's eyes to a spot right above his head. "Well, I'll be…" Sirius nodded towards the window behind Harry.

As Harry turned, a small bronze owl flew gracefully in through the window and landed softly on Harry's shoulder. "Thanks," Harry said to the owl casually, and slipped a piece of sausage into the bird's mouth, as he loved to do. It wasn't uncommon for Harry to get mail, but for some reason, Sirius had a bedazzled look in his eye. Harry glanced down at the letter that the bird had dropped in his lap and picked it up, his eyes widening.

"Mr. Harry J. Potter, 142 Irving Place, Missident, Great Britain," he read from the front. Slowly, his hands trembling , he turned it over and instantly, ecstasy shot through his body as he recognized the label all too well. "Hogwarts!" he ripped the envelope open and whipped out the letter. With a sudden idea, his furrowed his brow and stared depressingly at the parchment. "Dear Mr. Potter, we are sorry to inform you that you do not possess enough magical talent to enter into the great…"

"WHAT?" Sirius boomed. He snatched the paper from Harry as Harry let out a girlish shriek and collapsed onto the floor in spurting laughter. The owl, once perched comfortably on his shoulder, squawked and flew into the air distastefully. Sirius's red hot face looked as though he were going to reach a boiling temperature and before Harry knew it, he was dangling from the ceiling by invisible ropes.

"Whoa!" Harry let out a whoop as he was flung upside-down and staring into his godfather's panic-stricken eyes.

Sirius looked up at him coldly. "Remind me to thank Severus for that one," he retorted. He handed the letter to Harry, still dangling upside down. "Go on then."

Harry, who's voice became cold-like from the pressure exerted on his nose, snatched the parchment. "Come on, Sirius, let me down!" he complained. He hated it when Sirius pulled this one on him, it was one of those spells that could be cast without saying anything, which gave Harry absolutely no warning for what was coming. With a loud thud, Harry was released and crashed to the ground. He tucked his head inside his stomach and covered his neck with his hands into the roll he became much too accustomed to after the spell. "It was just a joke," he muttered, picking himself up and sitting back down. Sirius grunted. Shaking himself off, Harry began to read again, for real this time. "Dear Mr. Potter, it is our pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Tell us something we don't know," Sirius grumbled, still obviously shaken from Harry's joke.

Harry scanned the letter, then sat up straight and handed it to his godfather. "Well, Padfoot, it seems to all be in order," he said, in a very dignified tone.

Sirius shot him a look, but a playful shimmer danced in his eyes. "Well, maybe you'll have to come to the Ministry with me after all. We can make a trip to Diagon Alley to get your supplies."


	2. Platform 9 34

**Chapter Two : Platform 9¾ **

"Platform nine and three-quarters?" Harry looked reproachfully at the ticket in his hand. "What are they playing at?"

Sirius gave a hearty laugh and put a hand on Harry's back to keep him moving. They were walking along the grimy cement walks of King's Cross Station, passing barrier after barrier, noticing here and there other children who were pushing carts with a similar resemblance to Harry's.

"Harry, let's not forget one thing," Sirius finally said, as they approached barrier nine, "we are wizards. Use your head." He nodded towards a pair of girls who were heading straight for the tenth barrier. "What do you think it means?"

"Do they disapparate?" Harry asked, recalling something he had read once. But as he looked up at his godfather, he completely missed the sight of the two girls walking head-long into barrier ten.

Sirius rolled his eyes, "Of course not. You need a license. No, you must run in through barrier ten."

"Through?" Harry asked, seemingly skeptical. Although, he thought, I've come to just about expect _anything_ from wizards.

"Yes," Sirius said, with another chuckle. "Through." He gave Harry another bit of a push and guided him towards the barrier. "Now, we must act casual, it wouldn't be good if a Muggle saw us."

"Muggle? Where?" Harry asked sarcastically, looking around to pity his godfather. The fact was, there were hundreds of Muggles swarming all around them. As Harry looked, he noticed how many of them there seemed to be and found it quite shocking that none of them had noticed the girl and what looked like her father, walk straight into barrier ten. Every one of the Muggles were either reading a piece of paper, talking on one of those e-lec-tronic owl devices, or scolding their children, so it wasn't completely surprising that no one noticed.

Sirius grunted at Harry's chide. Taking the lead, he stuck his hands into his pockets, began whistling a little toon Harry couldn't recognize, and, walking slightly in front of Harry, went right through the barrier so that Harry could no longer see him. Harry did the same, but pushed his cart in ahead of him at a bit of a jog, and went straight through the barrier, nearly running into Sirius on the other side.

"See? Now that wasn't so bad! Come now, let's find you a compartment. Perhaps Draco is already here," Sirius walked ahead of Harry, meaning Harry had to jog slightly to catch up to him.

Mesmerized by the sight around him, Harry did not reply to Sirius. He looked around, trying to soak everything in at once: the Platform 9¾ sign, the long, extensive Hogwarts Express, seemingly hundreds of wizard-children and parents loading their belongings onto the train. It was more than he could have imagined, even with his experience in the wizarding world. It was completely unlike anything he'd ever seen, even compared to Diagon Alley. It not only carried a sense of brilliance, but it was unmistakably the most elaborate plan of travel he'd ever witnessed. Whoever thought to make a barrier in the middle of a Muggle station that led directly to an unavoidable wizarding train? Pure brilliance.

"This is incredible!" Harry finally murmured.

"Harry!" Oy, Potter!" a voice from behind him shouted out, and Harry spun to see a scruffy, blonde-haired boy leaning out of the entrance they had just passed. "I got us a compartment!" Draco said, jogging to meet Sirius and Harry, who had stopped to wait for him.

"Ah, Narcissa always was one for punctuality. Where is your mother, Draco?" Sirius asked, glancing around behind him.

Draco smirked up at him, "She's down there, talking to some bloke with a daughter in her seventh year. I got bored, so I figured I'd get us a good compartment. It's right near the middle."

"Brilliant!" Harry said, his heart grinding pure ecstasy against his nerves. "Let's go."

"I'm going to go have a word with your mother, Draco, then I will come check on you to make sure everything is in order," Sirius said, offhandedly as a pretty witch walked past him in a flourishing, emerald-green dress. He shook his head and nodded at the boys, then turned in the direction Draco indicated and headed down in search of Narcissa.

Draco led Harry to the door to get on the train and helped him haul his trunk up onto the stairs and into the hallway. Once again, Harry was distracted by the striking features of the Express. Clothed in a purple dressing, the walls were carefully patterned in velvet and silk, giving the hallway a serene subtleness, inviting its occupants into compartments. Then there were the compartments themselves: two elaborate benches, covered in a dark crimson and white-striped material, and overhead compartments in which to load one's possessions.

"This is incredible!" Harry said, not really to anyone in particular.

Draco chuckled, "Exactly what I did." He carried the cage of Harry's owl, which his godfather had bought for him in Diagon Alley, as each student was permitted one of three types of pets, into the third compartment on the left. "This is a beautiful owl, Harry. What did you name her?"

"Hedwig," Harry said offhandedly, grazing the soft seat cushions with his hand. He tugged his trunk into the compartment and let the door slid shut with a loud "thud".

Draco set the bird on the seat, closer to the door, and helped Harry, once again, lift and heave his trunk into the compartment opposite the one containing his own. When they finally got the trunk into the compartment, they collapsed onto the bench, one across from the other, and Sirius and Narcissa appeared at the door.

"Sure, come after we've done all the heavy lifting," Harry grumbled. Only Draco heard him, though, and chuckled.

"Well, boys, you seem to be all settled," Sirius said with a broad grin. "I don't suppose you have anymore need for us, I'm sure you are writhing beneath your skin to get out of this station." Both Harry and Draco nodded.

"Oh!" Narcissa said, all at once breaking into sudden tears and rushing towards her son. Draco practically screamed as the woman enveloped him and kissed the top of his head. "My baby is going to be away from me for such a long time!"

"Mum! Get a hold of yourself!" Draco said, trying to fend her off.

Sirius let out a bark, that all too much resembled the playful one he emitted as a dog, and looked at Harry. "Please don't expect the same treatment from me, Harry."

Narcissa shot him a reproachful look and released her son. She knelt down in front of Harry. "Now Harry, you are the sensible one of the both of you, try to keep him in line, wouldn't you?" Harry nodded, blushing slightly as she kissed the top of his messy head as well. She stood up and together, she and Sirius left the compartment.

Harry rubbed the spot where she kissed him, as though it hurt, and tried to flatten his hair that never seemed to be controllable. He'd learned long ago that it looked better when he just let it be.

"That woman … I swear!" Draco shook his head, then swung his feet up onto the seat and kicked off his shoes. "Well, there's nothing left to do besides wait for the trolley."

Harry stared at him, puzzled, "Trolley?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do all those books do absolutely nothing for you? The lunch trolley! With all the sweets! Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans, Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties…"

"Okay, I get it!" Harry said, laughing and cutting him off. "I didn't know there was such a thing. I'm glad Sirius took me to Gringotts before we came, though, now I have the money to buy them."

"Can you believe there are wizards out there that can't afford something as inexpensive as a Chocolate Frog? At Emman and Thiggs they're only three knuts!"

Harry nodded, "I know. When Sirius and I went to Diagon Alley for my things, there was this witch who was telling her son that the pewter cauldron was too expensive and they'd have to go to a second hand shop to get it." He shook his head, looking downcast. "I'm glad we don't have that problem."

"My mum always said its their own fault. She took up a post with the ministry as first she could when she left Hogwarts," Draco said, puffing out his chest in pride. "Said it was the best thing she ever did. And I don't blame her, we've been better off for it!"

When Harry's parents died they left him a small fortune, one that Sirius hadn't let him take part in until his tenth birthday, when he told Harry the truth about everything. Not that Sirius had ever lied that his parents had been murdered, but of course, the man was just looking out for him. It was extremely shocking to walk into a vault where he could be buried alive in a countless number of coins. He'd never heard an exact number of the vault's contents at Gringotts, but he hear Sirius mentioning to Narcissa once that he reckoned Harry was the probably most wealthy boy of his age ever known.

"Not that it does him any good," Sirius had barked to Narcissa. "Not only does every single witch and wizard know him wherever he goes, but he's got all that money now too. I'm waiting for the day it all finally hits him. I take that back, I'm not looking forward to that day."

Harry considered what Sirius had said for a moment. What had he meant exactly? When it 'all finally hits him'? He was famous for something he couldn't remember, and yet he graciously thanked anyone who was "honored" to meet him, for Sirius said that was most polite and least haughty. It wasn't his fault his parents were filthy rich and left him with more money than could feed a mountain of trolls, or that Voldemort had tried to kill him.

A sudden lurch jarred him from his thoughts, and both he and Draco scrambled to the window to see that the train had begun to move. Harry quickly scanned the crowd for Sirius. He finally found him leaning next to a pillar, alone, with a somewhat somber look in his eyes. Harry suddenly felt a pang of sorrow shoot through his body. He'd never been apart from Sirius for more than a night or two, not he was going to be gone for nearly four months. He stared at Sirius until the man finally found him in the window; they locked eyes, and Harry felt a warmth surge through his body. There was nothing to worry about, Sirius wasn't going anywhere.

He sat back down and stared straight ahead into the amber eyes of his new owl, Hedwig. _I'm going to be getting Sirius' money's worth out of you_, Harry thought, admiring the beauty of the sleeping bird. She really was precious.

Draco sat back down too. "Well, I'm glad to be rid of her," he said, huffily. "I bet you're sorry to leave Sirius, though. I'd give anything to have him as a father."

"You practically do," Harry said, yawning and stretching his arms out to put behind his head. "You're over so much I'm surprised he hasn't adopted you."

There was a moment of silence, before Draco's eager voice, and dislike of silence, broke it. "Do you think there will be Muggle-borns here?" he asked. "I heard that only Hufflepuff accepts half-bloods. But I've never met anyone who's parents are one-hundred percent Muggle."

Harry shook his head, "Nor have I. I would assume there would be though. _Hogwarts, A History_ said they began allowing Muggle-borns into the school after Salazaar Slytherin died."

Draco made a face. "Some day you are going to meet your match, Potter. You read way too much than what's good for you." Before Harry could utter a retort, he changed topics at top speed. "Mum said that if I'm put into Slytherin she's going to be worried I end up like my father," Draco said glumly. "It sounds like Slytherins have the most fun."

Harry shrugged. "That's mentioned in the book too. Slytherin has turned out more dark wizards than all the other three combined. Sirius said it would be horrible for my reputation if I was put into Slytherin."

Scoffing, Draco replied, "Oh enough with your reputation already. Sirius has got to understand that you need a bit of fun! However, I'm not going to lie. Anything that puts me in league with my pathetic excuse for a father does not appeal to me. Whatever the case, I just hope we're in the same house."

There was a tap on their compartment door and both boys jerked their heads, surprised, and saw a very pretty girl with long brown, wavy hair slide open the door. "I'm sorry to bother you boys, but I'm afraid that every other compartment is full and I'm really exhausted from lugging this around." She nodded at her trunk, which seemed fit to burst at the seems with an overstocking of content.

Harry and Draco looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: girl! They jumped up and with much less effort than it took with Harry's, hoisted her trunk up into the compartment to rest beside Draco's.

"Take a seat!" Harry said, enthusiastically, as the girl rested her ginger cat on the seat next to him.

"Thanks!" the girl said, flopping down into the seat with her cat. Draco shot Harry a menacing look, but took his spot across from the two. "My name is Hermione Granger, by the way. And who are…" she looked at Harry and her mouth dropped. "Holy crickets, are you Harry Potter?"

Harry flushed, "Uh, yes. Yes, I am." He stuck out his hand and Hermione shook it, mesmerized. Her eyes flickered up to his scar, but seemed to linger a bit longer in his eyes. "This is Draco Black," Harry said, looking at Draco who seemed pleased that Harry had the heart to introduce him after his obvious fame took over his own introduction.

Hermione smiled and shook Draco's hand, "Nice to meet you." She picked up her cat and nuzzled it in her arms. "Oh, and this is Anadhora," she said, indicating the cat, "she changes colors when Dementors come around. It's absolutely terrifying. I had to go with my father once to Azkaban and my mother absolutely insisted upon bringing Anadhora to keep me company. See this orange color she is now? Well she turns a ghostly-blue color when the Dementors are near." Her voice was pleasant and sweet, and as she spoke of the Dementors, her voice seemed to go a bit higher, as though to hide fear. She blushed, "I'm sorry, I tend to talk a lot when I meet new people."

Harry shrugged and leaned against the wall. "Well, it's more than what we were talking about, anyway," he said with a glance at Draco.

"What were you talking about?" Hermione asked, her eyes still lingering on Harry. "That is, if you wish to tell me."

"We were discussing Muggle-borns, I think," he passed a look at Harry. "Or maybe what house we are going to be in. I don't really remember what we ended on."

"Oh gosh, I just met a Muggle-born down the hall," she said, almost fearful. "Anadhora knocked over his cage with a small, ugly rat in it as we passed. He seemed scared to death to talk to me. I think his name was Terry…Terry something. I'd never met one before."

"Nor have we," Harry sighed. "Does that mean you're pure-blood?"

Hermione nodded, "Oh yes. My bloodline has only produced one squib, I believe. Barney, my mother's second cousin." She scowled, "You'd understand if you met the man. He's a disgrace."

Draco laughed, "We've got one of them too, and I must say, I agree. It is quite amazing that a witch or wizard can randomly pop up in a set of Muggles, though." He shrugged. "Do you know what house you'd like to be in, Hermione?"

"Gryffindor, undoubtedly," she said, promptly. "My whole family has been in Gryffindor. Besides, none of the others seem to have as many positive connotations attached to it. If Slytherin wasn't known for its dark wizards, I might be willing to be placed there, but it's just so… so…"

"Notorious?" Harry suggested. Hermione nodded. "We had come to the same conclusion," Harry said. "Although we think Slytherins might have more fun, it isn't worth being given a bad name."

Hermione smirked, "Reputation to uphold, poster-boy?" Harry flushed, but Draco laughed.

"Anything from the lunch trolley?" an older witches' voice rang out. Their compartment door magically flew open and a plump witch in dark purple robes stopped in front of the door and looked in.

Harry and Draco jumped to their feet, each of them getting a bit of everything, and sitting back down with sweets piled high in their arms.

"Hungry, are we?" Hermione asked.


	3. The Sorting Hat

**CHAPTER THREE : THE SORTING HAT**

"First years!" a loud voice boomed from near the front of the platform. The Hogwarts Express had come to a stop about five minutes ago and Harry, Draco and Hermione had finally pushed their way through the craze of students off board. Following the general direction of the crowd, they proceeded ahead, glancing all around them at the extensive features of the very old fashioned train depot around them.

A tall wall blocked their view of anything that might lay on the other side of the depot. There were four archways carved gracefully out of the brick, and placed sparsely down the long platform that could barely contain the massive Express which delivered all the Hogwarts students.

"First years over here!" the voice boomed again. As Harry, Draco and Hermione followed the rest of the students forward, their mouths dropped as they discovered who the booming voice belonged to. How they hadn't seen him before they got to where they were currently standing, none of them knew. The man who's voice rang so clear throughout the platform was at least nine feet tall, with short straggly hair that hung noisily in front of his gaunt face. His coat was large, making him look even taller, and seemed to be made from a variety of animals as well as many unwashed years of mountain dwelling.

As the three glanced around, they noticed they weren't the only ones gaping at the massive man in front of them. Most of the other students were doing likewise. The man looked as though he had come one gene short of the mixing pool; either by his height, for he didn't appear tall enough to be fully giant, or build, which was rather thin to be considered justifiable to his height.

"Have you ever seen a giant before?" Hermione hissed between Harry and Draco.

Harry shook his head, but Draco scoffed. "He's no giant! Giants are twenty to thirty feet tall! He looks like he was hit with a poorly performed engorgement charm."

"But they'd be able to fix that at St. Mungos!" Hermione insisted, her eyes still locked upon the man, who was still grinning despite the anxious looks from the crowd of students.

Before Draco could respond, the man spoke again, causing an immediate hush to overtake the mass. "Welcome to Hogwarts," the man beamed, his arm stretched gangly upwards in a half wave. "My name is Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid, but e'ryone 'round des parts jus' calls me Hagrid. My job here, besides to welcome you lot, is gamekeeper, but I also fill in for the Care of Magical Creatures teacher now and then." A murmur swept through the crowd like a sudden gush of wind, but was once again hushed as Hagrid continued speaking. "We're gonna take carriages up to the castle, so I ask yuh to find a group of five and follow me through the archways to the courtyard."

Harry, Draco, and Hermione looked at each other, as though to count and verify there were only three of themselves. Shrugging, they looked around, and Draco point across Harry. "Harry, look, there's two people," he said. Both Harry and Hermione looked in the direction of Draco's finger where two, quite out-of-place, red headed students stood.

The girl, catching Harry's eye, turned scarlet, but Harry waved at them. "Oy, you there," he shouted. "Care to join us? We need two more!"

The two, who Harry suspected to be brother and sister due solely to their hair color, glanced sheepishly at one another and strode over to where Harry, Draco, and Hermione stood.

"Thanks," the girl said, her eyes flickering over Harry's face interestedly. "Oh, look, we're moving." She nodded towards the group ahead of them who had begun their procession through the archways.

"Right. Okay then," Harry muttered, inhaling deeply. He led his small band of companions in the steps of their fellow classmates, through the archways and into an enormous courtyard at the foot of a very steep and extravagant hill. They heard gasps of shock and shrieks of glee from all around them, and joined in staring awestricken at the magnificently outlined castle set atop the hill. High, at atop the hill. The sight was wordlessly beautiful.

As they kept walking, they soon found themselves in line to be distributed to horse-drawn carriages by a variety of older students. Well, Harry reckoned the carriages were horse-drawn. Curious, he thought, I've never seen horses with wings.

"Wicked!" Draco whispered excitedly. "I wonder if the carriages are bewitched to move or something."

Hermione was squinting, her brow furrowed. "There are bindings for horses, I wonder where they are. Do they tie them up around here somewhere?" But as she looked around to see if she could see any horses, she caught sigh of Harry's perplexed face. "What?" she asked indignantly.

"Don't be thick!" he scoffed. "There are horses already tied to them. Look! They're pulling that one there!" He pointed to the first carriage, who's beasts had just begun its trek up the hill. To his dismay, all four of his companions gasped.

"How are they doing that?" Hermione gasped.

"The horses are pulling them!" Harry said, beginning to get annoyed. They were approaching the nearest carriage now, and the two winged-horses attached to the one in front of them were clearly visible.

"What horses?" asked the red-headed boy. "Do you mean there are horses pulling the carriages?"

Suddenly, in a wave of pure ignorance, it hit Harry that somehow he was able to see these horses, but his companions were not. "My god," he said, his mouth dropping, "I reckon these are Thestrals!"

"Thestrals?" Draco asked, his nose scrunching slightly in puzzlement, and slightly in exasperation that here was yet another thing Harry probably had detracted from a book.

"Thestrals!" Hermione said excitedly. "Harry, are you serious? Ohh!" She jumped up and down happily and stared intently slightly to the left of what she thought was the location of the nearest Thestral. Then, suddenly, she frowned. "Oh Harry…" her voice became low and sallow. Harry glanced at her, realizing that she knew the nature of Thestrals and why she was now looking upon him with pity.

"What the bloody hell are Thestrals?" the red-headed boy asked, slightly irritated by Harry and Hermione's lack of comprehensible words.

"Well," Harry started, "in short, you can only see them if you've seen someone snuff it."

Both the red heads opened their mouths in amazement, but Draco and Hermione lowered their heads. Draco, although able to maintain a rather tough-guy attitude at most times, had never quite been able to know what to say when Harry brought up the fact his parents had been murdered, not that he did so often. But Harry had noticed that his best friend only seemed to show sympathy for him.

"Wow!" the red-headed boy finally said, gaping at Harry. "Who've you seen die?"

"My parents…I guess…" Harry mumbled, after slight hesitation. This confirmed it, then. He never knew exactly where he'd been in relation to his parents' death, but he knew that he'd been in sight of at least one of them dying. According to Sirius, it was probably his mum.

The boy's grin faded, and he too became slightly ashamed.

"You fry brain," Draco sneered at the boy, "he's Harry Potter."

Both the girl's and the boy's heads whipped around so quickly that a tough of the girl's hair blew into the boy's. At that very instant, Harry saw the resemblance between them; it was strange the way they wore the same unbelieving, yet awestricken look.

But before either could say anything, although their mouths had been open for a good ten seconds, they heard a hastening voice ushering them towards the next carriage. "Come on," the tall, blonde boy opening the door to the carriage said. "You'll have plenty of time to chat inside." He helped Hermione and the red-head girl up the steps, and Draco graciously offered Hermione a hand the rest of the way, but she slapped his hand and did it herself.

Harry, Draco and Hermione sat on the longer bench, and the red heads on the other, rather shorter bench, both were still somewhat staring at Harry in awe. Shortly, the carriage began to move, and they felt the steadily incline towards the top of the hill commence.

"Yes," Harry sighed, as the two didn't seem to be interested to stop looking at him. "I am Harry Potter. This is Draco Black and Hermione Granger."

"Are you twins?" Hermione asked, quickly, before either could introduce themselves. They nodded. "I thought so," Hermione continued. "You have unmistakably the same eye structure, its spectacular." She smiled pleasantly at them, and their muscles seemed to loosen slightly. "What are your names?"

"I'm Ginny Weasley, and this is Ron," the girl said.

"Weasley?" Harry asked. "As in Arthur Weasley in the Department of the Regulation of Scelero and other related Muggle Controversies?" The Ministry of Magic had many departments, and long ago they transformed the Department of Improper Use of Muggle Artifacts to encompass most of the indecencies caused by Sceleros, or those wizards who were considered a pollutant to the wizarding world. Sirius had always explained that there were Muggles, Muggle-born Wizards, and Pure-Blood Wizards, then, wenched somewhere between Muggle-born Wizards and Pure-Bloods, were those who were so proud of their half-blooded nature that they had begun a sort of committee that intentionally presented Pure-Blooded Wizards with defective Muggle artifacts and intentionally caused discrepancies between Muggles and Wizards, in a sort of attempt to expose the Wizarding world. It was all the Ministry could do nowadays to track down these wizards and contain them. Most wizards were terrified of them because of how well they tended to blend in with the Muggle population.

"It isn't that they envy Muggle livelihood," Sirius had said, huffily. "It's that they were so ready to notify the Wizarding world of their unlikely entrance into our world, with no history of magic in their bloodline, that they went to great extents to, in a sense, brag that their blood was extra sensitive to magic." Harry always thought this idea was spurious, and it should really be the Pure-Bloodline that was magically enhanced, due to its long history amongst Wizard kind, not short-lived, spontaneous birth. Among most Wizards, the Pure-Blood superiority was generally accepted, and audited upon. However, the more Pure-Bloods were accentuated, the worse Muggle controversies tended to get. The Sceleros were beginning to become contained, however, since it technically ran in blood just as Muggle-blood and Wizard-blood did.

"Yes," Ron replied nervously, seemingly shocked that Harry knew this much about his father. "That's our father." He cast his sister a nervous glance, as did she to him.

Harry shook his head and blew inaudible air out his mouth. "Wow, I give him props. My godfather always says that Mr. Weasley has enough backbone to head the Ministry itself. I don't think I'd ever be brave enough to fight against Sceleros. It sounds more dangerous than an Auror job at times."

Ron's face brightened and a look of sheer pride enveloped his freckles. Then he blushed crimson. "He's always coming home with a ton of stories about how difficult the Sceleros make the survival of Wizards."

"I always wondered what happened to make the first half-blood to crack and turn sour," Draco said darkly. "Consider most half-bloods, I mean…they're terrified of us. Mum always says that if the oppressed aren't scared, they're rebelling."

Hermione sighed, "Lord Voldemort is a prime example."

Harry nodded, "But he wasn't considered a Sceleros, was he. When Dumbledore revealed in the fourth edition of _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ that Voldemort was a half-blood, the wizarding world went into an uproar."

It was commonly known among wizards that at the height of Voldemort's reign of terror, that is, before Harry's mysterious debacle of the dark lord, he was able to possess people at will. However, since no one could figure out the pattern which Voldemort used in possessing, he was therefore impossible to defeat. His knowledge of the dark arts was remarkable, reveled by the most achieved professors of the age. But since this fact was revealed, apparently much to Dumbledore's discomfort (however necessary the information was to the furthering of the understanding of the dark arts), Muggle-borns had been terrified owing to the single fact that because of Voldemort's half-blooded nature, it was only possible for him to possess other half-bloods. Since this point, about ten years ago, the abundance of Sceleros had gone down considerably (there were still those who considered Voldemort to be dead and acted upon that).

Many wizards blamed Albus Dumbledore, who is considered the most powerful wizard of the age, even to Lord Voldemort himself, for the destruction the dark lord caused through Dumbledore's hesitancy in revealing this little known fact about Lord Voldemort. It wasn't as though Pure-Bloods had little to worry about, for although they could not be possessed, they still suffered the affliction caused by the dark lord's actions, which at times were so tremendous that it wiped out entire Muggle-Wizard villages. With Dumbledore's knowledge, however, the International Confederation of Wizards and Wizengamot, of which Dumbledore has held head for many years, has been able to dramatically further their understanding of Lord Voldemort's movements and be able to prepare for him if or when he reappeared. Harry was particularly excited about this area of learning, according to his first year Defense Against the Dark Arts book _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_, first years at Hogwarts were to learn the basics of Lord Voldemort and ad the most important means of protecting oneself, why it is so important to understand these aspects of wizard-distress.

The remainder of the ride was held in silence, all five intently staring out their respective windows, admiring the scenery as the carriage proceeded uphill. Every once in a while, Harry and Draco exchanged meaningful glances, that only they seemed to understand and had little to do with either the carriage ride or the scenery.

The ride in total took nearly twenty minutes, and as it ended, their door was promptly opened and they were escorted down the steps and in line with the mass of students who had already debarked from their Thestral-driven carriages. The horses, however mystifying their essence seemed to Harry, sent a wave of bone-chilling sparks shooting up and down his spine. Harry shook the Thestrals from his mind and focused on the massive castle laying before him.

"Well, here we are!" Draco said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. Harry's anxiety faded as Draco's excitement overtook him, and he felt his heart begin to quicken. Draco was right, they were finally here. What they both had been waiting for ever since they could remember. If Sirius could only see him now. He hoped that no matter what happened here, he would be able to make his godfather proud and, if possible, begin to pay him back for the care he'd provided for Harry over the years.

The crowd of students seemed to stop in front of two colossal doors, which both Harry and Draco instinctively paid respect to in looking from bottom and following its extravagant art develop all the way up to the top. They looked at each other, grins spreading across their boyish faces. This was going to be a great year.

"Attention!" and elderly woman stood on a step slightly elevated from the rest of the students, and she rapped a rolled parchment onto her hand like a mallet. Instantly the voices died and all eyes were turned towards the woman. "My name is Professor McGonagall. In a few moments I will direct you inside the Great Hall where you are to be sorted into houses. It will be quite painless, I assure you, but it will take some time considering there are so many of you. So I ask for your patience as we proceed with the Sorting Ceremony." A soft bell rang behind her and she straightened up, even more than she already was, her beady eyes widening beneath her square-rimmed glasses. "That's our signal. Alright, align yourselves in a row of two and follow me."

There was a scramble to get into a line, a few curses thrown out in a hushed voices, but eventually they had all arranged themselves accordingly. Draco and Harry stood in front of Hermione and a boy who had introduced himself as Neville Longbottom, and behind them were the twins, Ron and Ginny Weasley. Most of the students looked terrified, but the whole way into the Great Hall and down the aisle of assorted students, Draco and Harry cracked jokes under their breath, trying as hard as they could to suppress their laughter.

As they approached the head of the enormous room, who's ceiling had been bewitched to look like the night's sky, a tall, gangly man with a long, white beard, whom Harry recognized immediately as Albus Dumbledore, stood and stretched out his hands in a warm welcome.

"Welcome! Welcome!" Dumbledore said, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "It is wonderful to see so many faces, new and old, but especially the new. I trust that you students standing before me are writhing with excitement to start your studies…" Draco nudged Harry in the ribs "…and are anxious to get on with this Sorting Ceremony. So, before we eat, let us continue with our Sorting! Professor McGonagall, if you would be so kind."

Everyone's attention was drawn to the single stool set in the middle of the platform immediately in front of the staff table. Upon the stool was a very ugly hat, which was due the million funny remarks that raced through both Harry and Draco's heads, but obediently suppressed their remarks. Before McGonagall could move, the hat formed a face, and seemed to rise on its own. To their surprise, the hat began to sing, and as they saw on McGonagall's face, it had been the very thing she had been dreading.

_If you've ever head the saying,_

_don't judge by what you see,_

_then please take to heart,_

_that this applies to me._

_Underneath the dirt and clod_

_lays brilliance beyond compare,_

_for the founders of Hogwarts_

_charged me with distributing their share!_

_So you see it is my job_

_to look inside your heads_

_and determine what role you'll play,_

_if you will wear green, blue, yellow, or reds._

_There is not a thing you hide inside_

_that I cannot seek or find,_

_so do not try to persuade me,_

_I'll only change your mind._

_If I call out Gryffindor,_

_it is implied your heart is noble,_

_to those who wish to defend_

_the throne of the dutifully royal._

_But better yet your bones are strong_

_and do not give wear to toil,_

_they can build your mind to meet your heart_

_that which cannot be a foil._

_Or perhaps I'll call out Hufflepuff_

_who's members are just and loyal_

_who wish their rights be recognized_

_and too, do not give way to toil._

_I may call out Ravenclaw!_

_You lucky ones are blest with brains._

_Of the smartest, you are full of wit_

_and know learning is the horses' reigns._

_Lastly, but not leastly, you may belong in Slytherin_

_who's friends are always friends._

_Known for their cunning acts are these,_

_who love to carry out the bitter end._

_I outwit any cap_

_that you will or have ever seen._

_So put me on, you lucky bunch_

_if you are so keen._

A rousing applause followed the conclusion of the hat's interesting song, and McGonagall, after suffering through it as well, stood next to it and unrolled the parchment. "As I call your name, please come forth and put the hat on! Abbott, Hannah!" A small girl ran up the steps, picked up the hat and set it on her head. The eyes of every new student were upon her, to see how exactly the hat worked (as though the song were not enough).

"Hufflepuff!" the hat shouted, about fifteen seconds later.

Draco and Harry cast each other a glance. Was there any indicated of which way the hat was going to toss you? Hannah removed the hat and replaced it on the stool before running to the table on the far left who'd applauded her entry. A couple students were called before, "Black, Draco!" was called. Harry thumped him on the shoulder and watched as Draco bounded up the steps, gave the Great Hall a broad grin, then shoved the hat on his head.

Harry tapped his foot anxiously, his heart pounding a mile a minute, and unconsciously holding his breath. He kept tapping…and tapping, and suddenly became nervous. Had the hat stopped working? Had it fallen asleep? Harry squinted and could see Draco's lips moving, but couldn't hear anything. It took nearly two minutes for the hat to finally call out, "Gryffindor!" And Draco removed the hat, shook his head hard, and bounded down the steps to the Gryffindor table.

Several students later, Hermione raced up the steps and, within seconds was, "Gryffindor!"

Time, however, progressed slower between the students after Hermione until Harry's turn, and it became almost unbearable to him as student after student was sent to Gryffindor. _Is there going to be enough room for me?_ He thought nervously.

Finally, though, his time arrived. "Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called. A hush dropped upon the student body like a silencing charm. Not a whisper escaped the lips of any student in the entire hall; every eye was upon him. Already somewhat used to such attention, Harry ignored the stares of his fellow first-years, and picked up the hat, set it on his head, then sat down on the stool.

Harry nearly jumped off his seat as a voice spoke to him. It was so loud, he wondered if this was the first time the hat had spoken since his song. But as Harry focused more on the voice, the stranger it was. The voice seemed to be coming from inside his own head.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. Great courage, I see, a desire for excellence, achievements! Clearly worthy of the intellectual characteristics of Ravenclaw. But I also see deviousness! Rebellion, lurking beneath the core of your wit. Perhaps Slytherin is where I should put you. Mmm, but yet there is more. Deeper, shall we go then? There is daring, above rebellion, and nerve, above deviousness. Clearly, yes! I see it now!" the voice stopped from inside his head and he heard the familiar voice ring throughout the hall, as it had done during its song. "Gryffindor!"

An enormous uproar sent the whole room into an upheaval as every Gryffindor rose from his or her seat to welcome _the_ Harry Potter into their house. Older students clapped him on the back and Draco shoved some other students aside to make room for Harry next to him. They grinned broadly at each other.

"I almost thought the hat was going to put me in Slytherin," Harry whispered, as the next student was called to the hat.

Draco nodded, "Me too. Then there was something about daring and nerve…"

"Boys!" Hermione hissed from across the table. She pressed a finger to her mouth and nodded towards the Sorting Hat. The boys shrank into their seats, but refocused their attention upon the sorting. Time seemed to pass much quicker after Harry's debut, and before they new it, Ron and Ginny Weasley were being placed into Gryffindor as well and McGonagall rolled up her parchment and removed the Sorting Hat from the stool.

"I'm so hungry!" Draco complained, clutching his stomach. "When are we going to eat?"


End file.
